


I am to do a good turn for them.

by days_of_storm



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Angst, Drama, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: Oh dear, I hope you like it. It's the most difficult thing I have ever written and I hope it fits your prompt:"Hamlet tells Horatio a convenient tale about a pirate ship. Does Horatio believe it? If he doubts Hamlet, what then - does it change their relationship? If Hamlet is lying, what really happened?"





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heliopause](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliopause/gifts).



> Oh dear, I hope you like it. It's the most difficult thing I have ever written and I hope it fits your prompt:  
> "Hamlet tells Horatio a convenient tale about a pirate ship. Does Horatio believe it? If he doubts Hamlet, what then - does it change their relationship? If Hamlet is lying, what really happened?"

_Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these fellows some means to the king. They have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valor, and in the grapple I boarded them. On the instant, they got clear of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy, but they knew what they did; I am to do a good turn for them._

Horatio’s hands shook as he read the lines put down on paper in prince Hamlet’s hand. He recognized his hand among a thousand – his writing being playful in a way that wakened memories of Wittenberg and happy days which were long gone. The cheerfulness was also in the words, enthusiastic, almost, yet so unlike him since that doomed and dreadful day out on the castle walls, when their collective vision had cast darkness upon Hamlet’s mind. 

_Let the king have the letters I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb, yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England. Of them I have much to tell thee. Fare-well. He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet._

As with all the letters Hamlet had sent to Horatio the past, he folded it away and did not look at it again until he was in his own chamber, with just three candles burning very low, the room itself half dark, and yet still lighter than Horatio’s heart.

He read the words once more, comparing Hamlet’s tone with that he missed so much it made him weep, and found himself in doubt. He sounded glad, and yet, he knew it would be temporary, that once he stood in front of Hamlet, he would see the grief engraved in his complexion, his hands too nervous and his lips so tense no smile had graced them since his father’s death. 

And yet he could not wait to see him, back, alive and well, because he knew in his own heart that Hamlet had not meant to come again to Denmark. Not while the king still reigned. 

To him he sent one of the sailors, praying the letters would not cause the king to do more harm that he had done already.

Completing Hamlet’s next request, Horatio quickly packed what he might need, fresh shirts and linen, food enough to last a week. He blew the candles out and followed the remaining sailor to a village three leagues east of Elsinore and to a farmer’s hut.

Hamlet was waiting in the dark, unshaven and unwashed, and much the opposite of how he sounded in his letter. Without a second thought Horatio laid his pouch out on the table at which Hamlet sat and pushed some bread and cheese into his hands. “Eat this, my lord,” he said, aware his lack of greeting would be easily forgiven. 

One of the sailors placed a bottle of sweet wine upon the table, lit four more candles to illuminate the small, dark room, and left at Hamlet’s signal.

Without ado, Hamlet began to eat, too fast at first for hunger, but later reigning in his speed, his eyes set on Horatio as he did. 

“I have returned,” he lastly spoke and leaned back in his seat. “Come, join me, friend, and share your food and drink and warmth with me.” 

Horatio faltered, certain that the Hamlet he now saw was not his Hamlet anymore. He coughed against the pain, and walked around the table, joining Hamlet on the wooden bench. 

“What happened, truly?”

Hamlet frowned and as he reached out for the wine, his hand shook lightly and he almost dropped the bottle. Horatio took the bottle from him, opened it and placed it back in Hamlet’s hands. 

“ _I am to do a good turn for them_. What is your intend?”

“Not now, Horatio. I will explain what happened once we are upon our way.”

“Where to?” A spark of hope grew in Horatio. Had Hamlet hidden here to disappear with him?

“The castle,” Hamlet watched him carefully and with his words Horatio saw his own despair reflected in his friend’s worn face. “I have to go and finish my endeavor.”

“You sounded content in your letter,” Horatio started, passionate, but stopped when Hamlet shook his head.

“I was. I am. To some extent.”

Horatio shook his head in turn and took the bottle, drinking deep. “This cannot come to good.”

“I know, Horatio.” A pause. “I know.”

“And yet,” he pushed a lock of unkempt hair out of his friend’s sad brow. 

A sigh and Hamlet took the bottle back, his left hand pressed against Horatio’s. He closed his eyes and drank. “And yet I have to.”

“T’was a spirit.”

“Aye, my father’s spirit.”

“I sometimes wish we had not spoken of it to thee,” Horatio said reluctantly, disheartened when the hand on his was dropped. “I could have soothed the pain, but now?”

“Now I must face the king and do the deed.”

A seeming endless pause grew heavily between them ere Horatio spoke again. 

“What came to pass whilst you were on that ship?”

“Tomorrow,” Hamlet rose and stepped around his friend. “Tomorrow you shalt know.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Tonight is not for tales.” He shed his shirt and found a jug of water. “Please help me wash?” he asked, his hands still trembling lightly. 

“I will, my lord.”

“And lie with me?”

With that he had his answer. “I will, my lord.”

“My trusted, one true friend.”

“Be honest now, so I can lie with you.”

“Do you refuse if I reject your wish?”

“Your rescue by the pirates, Hamlet!”

The young prince frowned but silence reigned as he washed off the dust and salt, and silent he remained as they lay down, one man holding the other. 

“Tomorrow,” Hamlet promised. “You shalt know.”

The morrow came and Hamlet still was silent. He knew Horatio had stayed awake all night, not risking being left behind once more. Their eyes shared words that lips would not dare speak and sadness darker than the night before hung heavily between them. 

Yet on their way they went and soon they came upon the graveyard just outside the city’s walls. 

What followed hurt Horatio more than Hamlet’s lie and as he held the prince still marked by earth and tears he understood that Hamlet could not leave the king alive. 

And by Ophelia’s tomb he finally fulfilled his promise to Horatio and told him of the journey to the Isles. And as he spoke he seemed revived and shared his finding of the sentence placed with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, his cunning and his skill at writing in the hand of Claudius, his father’s signet ring, and all that had befallen him until his rescue was at hand. 

“No pirate would have brought you back,” Horatio spoke softly. 

“No pirate, no, I will concede, but soldiers on their way to Denmark sent by Norway.”

“So it was Fortinbras that saved your life?” 

“Not him in person, but it was his decree.”

“So he committed treason.”

“He is no subject to the king, therefore no treason was committed.”

“And what about good Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.”

“Oh, they made love to their employment. They are not near my conscience.”

A moment passed when Hamlet was a stranger to Horatio, his mind and heart and speech too dark and tattered. And yet he would not leave him be. “What lies ahead, my lord, so I can offer my support.”

“Revenge, Horatio.”

“And after?”

“We go to Wittenberg again.”

“But you must lead the country as the king.”

“Once I was taken forth to Elsinore by ship, I made a promise to young Fortinbras. If he help me avenge my father’s murder, he would be king of Norway and of Denmark.”

“But this is madness, Hamlet!”

“Aye, that perhaps is true, but I was mad for all to see and must continue with my act. Yet you, Horatio, must lie and claim no knowledge of my journey here to court until I tell you to.”

“I will, my lord, I swear it on my life.”

“My good Horatio, and there is more to tell you yet.” 

And as this second night they lay together, Hamlet conferred with him on his intentions.

Laertes claimed the duel as predicted, and Hamlet spoke no words of anger out against him but he begged his friend’s forgiveness at the match. 

He knew that of the wish to murder him, Laertes’ heart was innocent. It was the king who pressed the plan upon his mind, a plan he had himself laid out and sold to Claudius by way of Normandy. Lamond, the source of death and torture, had offered both Laertes and the king his goods and promised instant ruin, and kept the secret of the antidote which Hamlet had received whilst on the ship. 

A locket holding Hamlet’s life was pressed against Horatio’s heavy heart as he looked on when blow by blow Laertes was pushed back into defense by Hamlet’s skill. If all went well, the locket would stay hidden, but even as he dared to hope he saw the blood on Hamlet’s back seep forth. With anger that escaped the laid out plan, the prince struck back as Gertrude drank the poison. Within a moment the great hall was full of noise, and cries of murder, treason, blasphemy rang high. 

With bated breath Horatio watched as Hamlet forced his uncle down to die, and dying, kissed Laertes’ hand who openly forgave him. 

Too late, he thought. It is too late. 

Horatio lay beside his prince, kissing his hair and waiting for his signal. With failing strength, Hamlet began to speak and begged his friend to stay alive and tell his story. 

“But I do prophesy the election lights on Fortinbras. He has my dying voice. Tell Fortinbras, with the occurrents, more and less, which have solicited. The rest is silence.”  


He knelt by Hamlet’s head and cradled him, with trembling hands pushed gently at the locket till it came undone. Most softly he conveyed the antidote to Hamlet in one final kiss. “Good night, sweet prince. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!”

He hardly saw the noble Fortinbras for tears. 

He hardly heard the news of Hamlet’s friends’ demise. 

He hardly knew how he was brought outside and sat beside a coffin for a while. 

The fight had left him senseless and young Laertes’ casket lay beside that of the mother and the prince. Two bodies and three coffins to be buried. As for the king, he’d lie outside the walls. Not near Ophelia and further yet from his own kin and with no ceremony. 

Pale Hamlet stood above the parapets, a ghost he seemed, not so unlike his father’s. Horatio found his form and watched him vanish. A vision, momentary, fragile, but a sign. 

Horatio did not attend the ceremony’s sadness, but gathered his belongings and begged leave of his new king to part at once. 

Two horses waited for him at the east-gate of the city and at the farmer’s hut he found his former prince. 

“Good day, my lord.”

The greeting was forgiven. 

“Thy lord no more, Horatio.”

“My friend, then, Hamlet.”

“And your poor servant, ever.”

“Thou, that I knowest mine, let us be on our way to Wittenberg.”

“And leave this prison.”

“And start to live again.”


End file.
